Valerie June is bringing a modern beauty to some ancient sounds, says Bernadette
McNulty.

While the slinky groove of disco – or rather Daft Punk’s Get Lucky – might be inescapable right now, another altogether more twangy rhythm is threatening its position as sound of the summer. The banjo is having a moment: ringing out everywhere from Mumford and Sons’ festival slots to the latest UK number one, Avicci’s Wake Me Up. Already overtaking Daft Punk as 2013’s fastest-selling single, the Swedish producer has resurrected the alliance of dance beats and banjo wig-outs previously made unholy by Rednex’s 1994 take on Cotton-Eyed Joe.

What the banjo is bringing to both the gig stage and dance parties is a fast thrust of building momentum, underpinned by the kind of rootsy authenticity a synthesiser struggles to conjure.

But I caught a far more delicate and moving use of the instrument at this year’s Latitude Festival. Addressing a sun-scorched dust-bowl field, Tennessee singer Valerie June claimed she hadn’t expected to find such familiar weather on her summer tour of British festivals. June may appear a model-gorgeous hipster, but she draws on the less prettified roots of the instrument found in the African kora, Appalachian folk and bluegrass music, and Deep South gospel and soul.

Along with the guitar, June uses her banjo more as an intimate confidante; a simple, expressive pen for her diary. “If I have something inside me that I want to get out, I’ll just beat it out on the banjo right then and there,” she says.

Fostered by the Black Keys’s Dan Auerbach on her debut album Pushin’ Against a Stone (released this spring), June is more than just another analogue nostalgist. While she proved on record she could hold her own with the boys on snarling stompers like You Can’t be Told, alone on stage for her afternoon festival slot, the stark, strident beauty of her voice and lyrics was given room to soar in front of the rapt audience gathered around.

Related Articles

The instrumentation and delivery may have sounded ancient, but her words on Workin Woman’s Blues – both sad and sardonic – were a kind of perfect modern blues. Too subtle to be an instant hit, June is unlikely to turn up on a rousing number one dance record anytime soon – but her beguiling banjo music is all the better for it.